


A Place of My Own

by strawberryfinn



Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Children, Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Multi, Orphanage, Orphans, Other, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn/pseuds/strawberryfinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys meet and grow up in an orphanage. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry, Age 6

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I had--an alternate universe story in which all the boys grow up and meet in an orphanage. I spent a lot of time imagining the boys as children, and well... this came out from it. The first chapter is from Harry's perspective, but the points of views will switch off.
> 
> This is my favourite multi-chapter story I've written for the One Direction fandom. I hope you enjoy it--please don't hesitate to let me know what you think :)
> 
>  **August 2013** : I'm rewriting and reposting! That's where all the rest of the chapters have gone!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you new here?”_
> 
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> 
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> 
> _Harry looks up and along with his reflection in the mirror, there's a small boy wearing a striped blue and white shirt with tattered red shorts. The boy has a mess of cinnamon colored hair and bright blue eyes and he's missing his two front teeth. He looks nice, Harry decides._

Harry doesn't really know why he's here. He ducks his head down, hiding his face in a mess of tangled, chocolate curls, and thinks that if he makes himself small enough then nobody will notice him and then he can leave and go back to his mum. All he knows is that his stomach hurts _a lot_ —and that's probably because he hasn't eaten anything for the last two days except for a box of stale cereal he found in the pantry and some old crackers that were laying next to it—but he's scared because he doesn't know where he is and why he's here and why they're taking him away from his home.

The slender, tall lady—Mrs. Gold—Harry reminds himself, looks kindly down at him with soft eyes, but Harry doesn't return her smile. Mrs. Gold takes her eyes off of him and pounds her fist against the heavy wooden door in front of them, and Harry just stares, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar surroundings before burying his head back down against his shirt, wishing he could disappear.

A man with short, clipped brown hair close to his head, deep-set blue eyes, and thick eyebrows answers the door. His shoulders are broad and his chest is big and he reminds Harry a bit of a skyscraper with the way he's built, and Harry thinks about running away when the man's mouth pulls in a straight, thin line.

“Another one?” the man asks rather tiredly, shoulders slumping down in exhaustion, and Harry wants to leave. But then the man spots him and gives him a nice smile that makes the edges of his eyes crease up, and Harry thinks maybe the man isn't as mean as he seems to be.

Mrs. Gold looks apologetically at the man with the squinty eyes. “Sorry, Paul, we found him yesterday. According to the biopsy reports, his mum's been gone for the past three days—we found him holed up next to her body.”

“We're almost full,” the man with the squinty eyes— _Paul,_ Harry thinks—replies, but he opens the door regardless and ushers Ms. Gold and Harry inside. “Near maximum capacity.”

“He won't take up much space,” Mrs. Gold replies, placing a thin, veiny hand on Paul's arm. “Paul, please, he's only six.”

Harry just clutches his duffel bag to his chest and shuffles behind t he unfamiliar Mrs. Gold he only met this morning and the man who's built like a building who has brown stubble in his chin. He thinks they might be talking about him, but he doesn't know why they brought him here. He just wants to be back home with his mum where she's just taking a really long nap. Maybe when she wakes up she can make him a grilled cheese sandwich so his tummy stops hurting so much.

“He's awfully small for a six-year-old,” Paul says cryptically, eyeing Harry. His eyes rest on the curls of hair, Harry's small, bowed shoulders, before landing on Harry's bright green eyes. “What's your name, buddy?”

Harry kicks the tiled floor with a scuffed sneaker, before he realizes Paul is talking to him. “Harry,” he manages in a small, shy voice, and the way Paul's smile breaks out on his own face makes Harry feel a bit more at ease.

“Hi Harry,” says Paul, leaning down to eye level with Harry. “You can call me Mr. Higgins, alright?”

“How come Mrs. Gold gets to call you Paul?” Harry asks, before flushing. Paul wants Harry to call him Mr. Higgins so he should just listen before he gets into any trouble.

Paul laughs at that, clapping a big hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry flinches. Paul doesn't seem to notice as he continues on, “That's because Mrs. Gold is an adult. You can call me Paul when you're Mrs. Gold's age, how does that sound?”

Harry bites back his reply that he doesn't think that sounds fair at all, because he doesn't want to make Paul angry. Maybe if he's good then Paul will let him go back to his mum.

“Okay,” he manages uneasily, and Paul smiles at that.

“Good boy,” Paul—no, Mr. Higgins—says. “You're gonna stay here for awhile, is that alright buddy?”

Harry doesn't know what to say. He wants to scream and tell them to take him back to his mum, but that didn't work so well yesterday: to his terror, one of the policewoman had just burst into tears and everybody had cooed and fussed over him and had told him that everything would be okay, but nobody had taken him home. So he just nods bravely and tries not to cry.

Mrs. Gold clips a hand to his shoulder, and ruffles his curls. Harry doesn't like that—he doesn't like Mrs. Gold who took him away from home, but he permits it. “Good luck, Harry,” Mrs. Gold says, and with a click of her heels she exits the room.

Harry stares up at Mr. Higgins who is staring at him with a hard expression. “Harry, this is going to be your home for awhile, okay? There are lots of boys for you to play with and we have a lot of good food, alright?”

Harry wants to tell Mr. Higgins that he _has_ a home and he just wants to go back to his house in Cheshire, but Mr. Higgins is being so nice to him he decides he might just listen to the man for awhile. If he wants to leave, maybe he can run away tonight.

“Follow me upstairs and I'll show you where you'll sleep,” Mr. Higgins tells him, and Harry doesn't have a choice but to agree. He wraps his hands around his duffel bag, but Mr. Higgins sees him struggling under the weight of it, so he takes it from Harry and slings it easily over his shoulder.

Harry follows Mr. Higgins up a wooden flight of stairs with a worn down banister, up to a small room with three beds. The room is painted a light blue and Harry likes the colour even though his favorite colour is orange. Mr. Higgins shows him where to put his bag and he takes out his few thin t-shirts and trousers and puts them into a dresser of drawers at the end of the narrow room. 

“This is going to be your bed while you're here. The bathroom is down the hallway, and I'll get you your towel by tonight, alright? You'll be starting school here this coming Monday, and you can be a good lad and do your homework, can't you?”

Mr. Higgins goes on and on and Harry has a hard time paying attention to what he's saying, finds his eyes wandering to the posters of cartoon characters on the wall. Mr. Higgins tells him that he's expected to make his bed everyday and that he'll be assigned chores everyday to do as well.

“When you're finished doing your chores and your homework from school, you can go play outside in the backyard or in the attic or in the basement or the playroom, alright, Harry?”

Harry just nods and sits quietly down on the edge of his bed. Everything is so unfamiliar and he doesn't know where he is and that scares him because he doesn't know how he's going to get home. He's not even sure if the address he has stored in his brain actually his home address and his thoughts are so scattered, and he feels small and scared and lost.

Mr. Higgins places a hand gently on Harry's shoulders and Harry's green eyes meet Mr. Higgins' friendly grey eyes. Mr. Higgins sighs, a bit sadly, Harry thinks, and says, “Why don't you just go and meet the other boys? I'll introduce you to everyone at dinner, alright?”

Harry doesn't know what to do so he nods, and Mr. Higgins give shim a small smile and says, “Welcome home, Harry.”

___________________________________________________

Harry doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Mr. Higgins told him he could go play in the backyard or the attic or the basement, but Harry doesn't know where any of those are. He doesn't even know where he is—he thinks he probably isn't in Cheshire anymore though, because Mrs. Gold drove him far, _far_ away. He sits on his bed, and slumps over, hiding his head in his pillow and wishing with all his heart his mum was there to stroke his hair and kiss him and tell him everything's going to be alright.

Harry really has to go to the bathroom, he realizes too, and he's thankful that Mr. Higgins told him where the restroom was because the last thing he'd want to do on his first day here is wet his pants. Especially since Mr. Higgins told him there's other boys here.

Harry runs to the bathroom and pees in an unfamiliar toilet and washes his hands in an unfamiliar sink. He's rubbing soap over his hands and trying to formulate a plan of how to escape in his mind when there's a voice.

“Are you new here?”

Harry looks up and along with his reflection in the mirror, there's a small boy wearing a striped blue and white shirt with tattered red shorts. The boy has a mess of cinnamon colored hair and bright blue eyes and he's missing his two front teeth. He looks nice, Harry decides.

Harry nods yes, and the boy bounds over next to Harry, uninvited.

“I'm Louis,” the boy chirps brightly and holds out a hand for Harry to shake.

Harry wipes his hands on his pants and then shakes Louis's hand hesitantly.

“Well?” Louis prods, a bit impatiently. When he speaks he spits slightly and there's a whistling sound from the gap in his teeth, and Harry thinks it's kind of funny but he doesn't laugh. “What's your name?”

“Harry,” Harry manages to reply, and Louis sighs in relief.

“Good, I was starting to think you were dumb like Zayn,” Louis continues conversationally as though he's a genius. And Harry thinks Louis might be a genius. Louis is awfully friendly and really outgoing and Harry finds it a bit unnerving. (Harry also has no idea who Zayn is).

“I live with Zayn and Liam just down the hall,” Louis goes on, pointing a finger to a room in the distance. “They're kind of weird but I like them.” Louis says this as though he's the most normal person here, and Harry just nods dumbly as he listens. “Zayn doesn't talk at all—but Mr. Higgins says that he can actually talk but we just have to be patient with him.” Louis's forehead furrows as though this is a very difficult concept to grasp, and Harry doesn't know Zayn, but there must be something wrong with him if he doesn't talk, just like Louis suggests. “Liam is nice but he cries a lot and wets the bed. Oops,” Louis looks at him apologetically, “I don't think I was supposed to tell you that, so don't say anything when you meet him, okay?”

Harry realizes he's supposed to answer and nods quickly, curls getting in his eyes.

“Thanks,” Louis blusters on, moving onto a different topic entirely. Harry's a bit surprised at how fast and how much Louis talks, but he doesn't mind it—he kind of likes the way Louis fills his mind with constant chatter. His last few days have just been full of an uncomfortable, _loud_ silence with his mum not waking up from her nap, and it's nice to have someone talking to him.

Louis gestures for Harry to come with him, and he starts up the steps to a third floor. Harry stumbles after him eagerly, and listens to Louis's continuing blabber. “I've been here for almost a year now. It's okay, and I think you'll like it—but I don't plan on staying here forever. One day I'm gonna get out of here and be famous.” He grins brightly at Harry, and Harry can't help the smile that crawls over his face in reply.

“Cool,” Harry responds, and Louis's eyes light up like Harry's just told him that it's Christmas everyday.

“We're going to get along just fine, Harry,” Louis tells him, “you wanna be friends?”

Harry doesn't think he's ever had a friend before, but he's read about them in books and seen them in movies and stuff, and yeah, that sounds pretty cool.

“Sure,” Harry says, and his heart lulls in his chest and he thinks that maybe this new home won't be so bad after all.

___________________________________________________

Dinner is really loud and Harry's head is whirling with the laughter and the catcalls and all the voices yelling at him all at once. Mr. Higgins had pulled Harry aside earlier to ask him some questions (“What's your birthday?” “February 1”, “Do you have any siblings?” “Yes, my sister, Gemma,” “Do you have any other living family?” “My dad,”) and Harry didn't know the answer to a bunch of them (“Where's your sister?” “Where's your father?” “Can you try reading this for me?”), and by the time he's in the small dining room adjoining the kitchen, he almost wants to cry.

Mr. Higgins was really nice throughout the whole questioning process but Harry thinks he might be stupid because he didn't know how to respond to a lot of the questions Mr. Higgins was asking.

So he's awfully relieved when Mr. Higgins leads him into the dining room. There's a long table covered with platters of mashed potatoes and baked chicken and broccoli, and Harry's stomach grumbles. He's really, really hungry. The table is lined by two long benches and clutterd with children with all the boys are sardined in next to each other. Harry knows there's a lot of boys but he can't count past ten so he's not sure how many of them there are. He looks around, not sure where he's supposed to sit and feeling awfully uncomfortable, when there's a cry of a familiar voice.

“Niall, _move,_ Harry, Harry, Harry over _here_!” comes a call, and Harry's eyes flash up to look at Louis who is teetering on the edge of his seat. Harry watches as Louis pushes a boy with pale skin, a shock of white blonde hair, and bright blue eyes out of the way to make room. Louis slaps the bench with his palm, waving Harry over.

“Louis, you can't just push me!” protests the blonde boy, a dusty pink painting his cheeks, but he doesn't seem too mad as Harry clambers in eagerly between him and Louis.

“Harry, this is Niall,” Louis beams, as though he didn't just shove Niall out of the way. Niall looks at Harry with a crooked smile—he's missing a bunch of teeth, but the way his smile lights up it nearly splits his face in half. Niall's really small—even smaller than Harry, and Harry's a bit surprised because he's never met anyone smaller than him.

Niall's voice is kind of funny-sounding with an accent Harry doesn't recognize, but he doesn't say anything about it. Louis, on the other hand, is not as tactful.

“Harry, isn't his voice funny?” Louis sniggers, blue eyes bright and with an oblivious insensitivity Harry almost admires.

“I'm Irish!” shrills Niall in an incredibly loud voice, and Harry thinks the blonde might break his eardrums. Harry claps his hands over his ears as Niall continues, “My voice is just funny to you because you're English!”

“He's right, you know, Louis. You shouldn't make fun of him,” comes a quiet voice, and Harry looks across the table to see a boy with a puddle of brown hair and soft brown eyes.

“Oh shove off, Liam, I'm just kidding,” Louis says indignantly, folding his hands protectively over his chest. “Niall, you know I'm just teasing, right?”

“Yeah, it's alright,” Niall admits begrudgingly. He scoops some mashed potatoes onto Harry's plate and then onto his own plate. Harry nods in thanks, and Niall pushes the potatoes down the table towards Louis.

“This is Harry,” Louis bursts to Liam, as though Harry's a pet that Louis discovered and recently bestowed a name upon. Louis slings an arm over Harry's shoulder even though they've barely met, but Harry doesn't mind.

“Hi Harry, I'm Liam,” Liam says again, even though Harry already knows who he is. He searches his mind to see why that name's familiar, and _ah,_ Liam's the bedwetter. Harry studies him—Liam doesn't look like he'd wet his bed. He looks older than Harry, a bit more solid, with a friendly face and very mature and composed for a kid.

“Zayn, do you want some chicken?” comes Niall's loud voice, and Harry glances over to look at the other kid on Niall's side. There's a boy with delicate eyelashes as long as a girl's and tanned skin and bright brown eyes that look a bit scared. His hair is jet black and his lips are full, and Harry remembers Louis telling him Zayn doesn't talk.

True to Louis's word, Zayn doesn't answer, and Niall sighs but graciously gives him a drumstick anyway. Zayn offers Niall a hesitant smile, and starts eating without a word. Harry studies him with as much attention as a six-year-old can muster; Zayn's movements are quick and jumpy—he flinches a lot, and Harry thinks he might be nice too. He wonders what Zayn's voice sounds like.

Louis squalls for his attention, nudging him in the side with a grin. “How's your first day, Harry?”

Harry looks uncertainly at him, eyes traveling from one boy to another—Liam, Zayn, Niall, before landing on Louis. He smiles hesitantly, and judging from the way Louis's blue eyes soften, Louis understands.


	2. Zayn, Age 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Zayn doesn't really remember exactly when he decided to stop talking, but he thinks it might have been when the policemen came to get him after the Night._

Zayn watches Harry adjust to life at the home, and is secretly relieved that Harry doesn't change things too much. Harry becomes really good friends with Louis, and Zayn remembers how when he first arrived, Louis latched onto him in the same way that he does to Harry. At first, though, Zayn didn't like Louis too much because Louis can be a bit pushy, so he's almost relieved when Louis finds his replacement. Louis was always trying to make Zayn talk when Zayn just _couldn't._

So Zayn would just get sad and frustrated instead, but Louis wasn't very good at picking up on feelings that weren't his own. So yeah, Zayn's glad that that's over. Harry likes Louis a lot more than Zayn does and listens to every word Louis says like it's worth millions, and Louis beams under the younger boy's constant worship and adoration.

Zayn sees Harry react with the same glee that Zayn did (though Zayn's reaction was much more understated and quiet), when he first came to stay with Mr. Higgins about the regularity and timeliness of the food.

They always get breakfast at eight in the morning, and it's always cereal and milk. Zayn likes the Cheerios, Harry likes Cookie Crisps, Liam likes cornflakes with bananas, and Niall and Louis fight over the marshmallows in the Lucky Charms. Those are their favourites, but usually they just eat whatever Mr. Higgins buys for the whole home—and they hardly ever get special flavours. Lunch is sandwiches that Mr. Higgins makes everyday with thick white bread and either bologna or ham and cheese. When they have school, he packs the sandwiches into their tin lunchboxes they got donated from the local Salvation Army. Dinner is always different and Mr. Higgins can actually cook pretty well (or sometimes he uses the microwave), and Zayn really likes it when they get cake or ice cream too, even though they don't a lot.

Whenever they do have cake Zayn usually ends up giving some of his portion to Niall. Niall always looks at Zayn with these wide, unblinking blue eyes that make Zayn a bit uncomfortable. But Zayn likes Niall, and he really likes it when that bright, crooked unfolds on the younger boy's face. Plus, Niall is smaller than all the boys in the home, and Zayn thinks that maybe if he eats more he'll start growing. And maybe if he starts growing, the kids at school will stop jumping him and throwing him into the dumpsters and grinding his face into the concrete.

Niall talks more than anybody Zayn knows—even more than _Louis_ —and sometimes Niall talks so fast that his words mix together and no one can understand him. Niall doesn't know when to stop talking; he's a sea of rambling words and babbling, and a lot of people think it's funny that he's friends with Zayn who doesn't talk at all.

But even though Niall is like a well of endless chatter, he's really nice and watches out for Zayn. Niall always makes sure Zayn has food on his plate and he tries to help Zayn on his maths (Niall is actually really bad at maths, but Zayn doesn't have the heart to let him know that). In return, Zayn lets Niall talk all he wants and never tells him to shut up. A lot of the other kids in the house and at school think Niall is weird and call him _spaz_ or _freak_ because he's so loud. Louis tells Niall to shut up all the time. Zayn doesn't really like it when Louis does that. He thinks it's kind of mean even though Louis probably isn't trying to be mean, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, Zayn just grasps Niall's hand and squeezes his fingers to tell Niall that he doesn't mind at all when Niall talks—in fact, he almost likes it.

Louis never tells Zayn to shut up. But Zayn reasons that's because he never talks.

Zayn doesn't really remember exactly when he decided to stop talking, but he thinks it might have been when the policemen came to get him after the Night. His mum had told him to be quiet as she locked him in the closet, and Zayn had listened obediently because his mum seemed really scared. When the police came and got him, he was so confused and everything _hurt_ and his head was pounding and there was _a lot_ of blood. He's pretty sure that he wet his pants when he saw his sister's bloody body on the ground, but he doesn't like to think about the Night. So whenever it does come up, he tries to think about comic books or superheroes or ice cream and other things that make him happy.

When the doctors asked him questions and fussed over him and examined his body, he listened to what his mum had said, and stayed silent. When they brought him to the home, he stayed quiet.

It's what his mum told him to do, and he was going to do it.

___________________________________________________

Zayn's not quite sure when he realizes his entire family was murdered. The newspaper articles had flown around and people had walked around him in a hush, but he was just so, _so_ confused and he _couldn't_ talk, so he couldn't ask any questions.

All he remembers is that the day the crushing realization breaks the mental cage he's formed for his brain, he locks himself up in the bathroom. In the privacy of the loo, he cries until his lungs hurt and his face burns. When Mr. Higgins finally smashes the bathroom door in alarm, Zayn is sitting placidly in the bathtub, fresh tear-tracks down his face and hair mussed with frustration, but brown eyes surprisingly calm. Mr. Higgins picks him up and takes him to his bed and tucks him in next to Louis and Liam, telling him everything will be alright.

Zayn doesn't like to think about that night either.

___________________________________________________

At school, Zayn goes to one special class that Louis, Harry, Niall, and Liam don't have to go to. He has to go to Dr. Schaefer, who is what the grown-ups call a specialist. Louis tells Zayn he has to go to a _specialist_ —on account of his being dumb. Zayn is old enough now to know that there are two different types of _dumb_ : one is for a person who's a right idiot and one is for a person who can't talk. He knows he's the second type.

Dr. Schaefer is nice enough, Zayn supposes, with circular glasses and a thick mustache. He has a voice that kind of sounds pinched, but the meetings Zayn has with him aren't bad.

At the _specialist's_ office, Dr. Schaefer lets Zayn create model airplanes and build Lego houses, and every once in awhile, Dr. Schaefer will help him. Zayn especially likes it when Dr. Schaefer rolls out long, blank pieces of white paper and gives him paint and paintbrushes or a box of crayons. Zayn fills up entire sheets and pages with drawings and landscapes and brings them to the home as gifts for Niall and Liam and Mr. Higgins and sometimes if he's feeling gracious, even for Louis or for his new sidekick Harry. (Harry isn't a bad type at all. Harry's in the same room as Niall and Josh, and Niall says Harry's nice, so Zayn thinks Harry must be alright).

Zayn notices how Dr. Schaefer scribbles down words in loopy writing on his clipboard as he plays Candyland or Connect Four or other games with Zayn. Zayn doesn't know what they mean, but between snippets and words he hears muffled behind closed doors, he catches the words “trauma” and “give him time” and “selective mutism.” He thinks Mr. Higgins and Dr. Schaefer might be talking about him, but he doesn't know for sure.

___________________________________________________

Zayn likes Liam almost as much as he likes Niall. Liam isn't loud like Niall and he doesn't seem as bent on making outrageous first impressions like Louis and he isn't even funny like Harry, but Zayn kind of likes the way Liam is understated, like Zayn is. Liam glides around on the outsides, watches the other kids with keen, defensive eyes. Liam is quiet like Zayn, but kind and responsible.

Liam wets his bed every night, and in silence Zayn watches him strip the sheets off his bed in the morning and bring them to the wash.

Liam gets beat up at school almost as much as Zayn and Niall do. Hotheaded Louis bites the first boy who gives him a hard time, so the rich kids at school tend to avoid him. Once the bullies find out how fiercely protective Louis is of Harry, they don't bother Harry either. 

But Louis can't protect all of them—Mr. Higgins has been pulled in for conferences about Louis's behavior at school far too many times now on account of Louis kicking kids who get too close to Niall or Liam or Zayn or Harry, and Louis is maxed out on his detentions. Liam is far too sweet to fight back and even though Niall is feisty, he's far too runty to defend himself. Zayn can't speak so he can't even protect himself, much less stop the bullies from shoving and pushing Liam and Niall.

But what Liam lacks in brawn, he makes up in brains.

Liam is the one Zayn manages to scrawl “selektiv mootizem” (he mispells it horribly but he goes based on what it sounds like), on a paper for, and intelligent Liam goes to the library to look it up. Zayn watches Liam pore over a dictionary, and then a thick encyclopedia, with his insightful eyes. Liam tells Zayn, in a quiet, solemn voice, that “selective mutism” is what Zayn has and that Zayn can speak whenever he wants to, but he doesn't have to. Liam tells Zayn that he'll be Zayn's friend in either case—whether he's speaking or not.

Coincidentally, Liam is the first person that Zayn talks to at the home. He doesn't really expect to, but he walks into his bedroom that he shares with Louis and Liam one day, and Liam is crying.

Liam is laying in his bed, huddled under the blankets, and _sobbing,_ and before Zayn knows what's happening, he opens his mouth and the worlds topple out unexpectedly.

“Are you okay?”

Liam looks at him, brown eyes wide and round in his square face, but manages to nod a reply. Zayn suddenly realizes that if he'd spoken his first words to Louis, Louis would have run around spreading the news that Zayn wasn't actually a dumb mute and started collecting money on the bets he'd made with the other kids in the house on whether or not Zayn was actually mute. (Zayn's also pretty sure Louis's got a bet going on whether or not someone cut out Zayn's tongue). 

Zayn's really glad the first person he decides to talk to is Liam, because Liam just studies him with his brown eyes and his red-rimmed eyelids and sniffling nose and accepts. He doesn't press Zayn to talk any more or less, just lets Zayn speak when it feels right.

“I'm okay.” Liam's voice is hoarse, and Zayn doesn't really believe him, but he clambers into Liam's bed and wraps his arms around him in an attempt of a hug. Zayn's mum used to hug him before she was... _gone_ , and though Zayn's not as warm and soft as his mum, maybe this might help Liam out.

Liam clings onto him, desperately, and says in a small voice, “What happened to your family, Zayn?”

Zayn thinks the blood in his veins turns to ice, and he doesn't want to answer, but it turns out he doesn't have to. Liam doesn't really want to know—he just doesn't want to feel _alone._

Liam starts crying and Zayn is a bit uncomfortable. Liam doesn't seem to notice, and he starts rambling, telling Zayn about how he lost his entire family in a fire that burned down his house and he misses them so much and he wishes they were here. He says sometimes he dreams he started the fire and he wakes up, covered in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, to the screams of his parents and his sisters. He says that tomorrow is his birthday and that on his last birthday, his parents took him and his sisters to the beach and they had ice cream and candy apples and cake, and they all played in the sand, and he loved every minute. Liam sobs and bundles his head in Zayn's shirt and reveals the only birthday present he wants is to go _back._

Zayn listens to him cry and squeezes Liam's hand the way he usually squeezes Niall's.

Liam stops talking after awhile and just holds Zayn's hand.

Zayn's thankful for the silence.

___________________________________________________

The next day, for Liam's birthday, Mr. Higgins makes a cake and puts in seven candles that he slowly lights with matches. He tells all the kids to sing “Happy Birthday” and asks Liam to blow out the candles and make a wish.

Liam takes one look at the flames on the wax sticks, bursts into tears, and runs to his room.

Zayn finds Liam huddled under the covers, and wordlessly strokes Liam's back.

He thinks he might be best at helping people when he doesn't say anything at all.


	3. Louis, Age 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That was the first time Louis broke into Mr. Higgin's office, but it wouldn't be the last._

Louis has made a lot of friends in his year and a half at the home, but he thinks Harry might be the best one yet.

Sure, Louis likes his roommates Liam and Zayn, but Liam looks sad and lost most of the time and Louis's pretty sure Zayn was abucted by aliens that removed his vocal cords. (He's got a lot of money riding on this bet, so he'd rather you not tell him if you know the actual truth). He knows Liam and Zayn both lost their families, and that Niall was _abused._ Louis doesn't know what “abused” means, but he figures it has something to do with the fact that Niall doesn't really talk—he just _screams_ —and why Louis catches Niall visibly flinching every time Mr. Higgins asks him a question. He read the word in Niall's private file in Mr. Higgin's office.

Louis's a bit of a _kleptomaniac_ —he doesn't know what that word means either, but he heard Mr. Higgins calling him that behind closed doors. Mr. Higgins described Louis as a _kleptomaniac_ after he caught Louis stashing away chocolate chip biscuits he'd taken from the kitchen under his pillowcase. And Mr. Higgins had called Louis _nosy_ and _intrusive_ when he found Louis rummaging through the drawers in Mr. Higgin's office—the one that has all the files on everyone including the one on Niall when he found out Niall had been _abused_ by his father.

Louis likes to think that he's _curious._ In school, he's taught that being curious is good, and he was looking through the files because he was _curious_ not because he was _nosy._ Louis is a little bit confused what the difference is between nosy and curious, because curious is supposed to be good thing, but the way that Mr. Higgins says _nosy,_ it sounds like a bad thing.

The reason Louis was digging though the files in Mr. Higgin's office is this: Louis's a pretty smart boy, as far as he is concerned, and he doesn't like secrets. He especially doesn't like secrets when he's not the bearer of them. He thinks the world would be a lot easier without secrets—with everything in the open, nobody has anything to hide and everyone can just understand each other better.

So when Louis's little sisters Lottie and Georgia went missing one day from the girls' home across the street, and nobody would tell him what was happening except for the fact that they'd been “adopted” and had good new parents and new families to take care of them, Louis wouldn't have it. He had to know what happened. His whole life his mum and dad had been telling him to watch out for his younger sisters, to mind his siblings—and now they'd vanished and Louis hadn't done his job.

Before he came to the home, Louis reckons, his life was pretty good. He had a wonderful mum and dad who loved him and his sisters more than anything. And then, one dark and rainy night, his parents went out to the grocery store to buy some food—Louis remembers distinctly asking for chocolate milk—and they didn't come back. Instead, Louis remembers staying up, peering anxiously through the windows of the front door and putting Lottie and Georgia to bed with his stomach full of uncertainty. His sisters had complained and made him read them a bedtime story, so Louis had gone to bed, uneasy but tired.

The next morning, his mum and dad still weren't back, but his Auntie Daphne arrived, looking tired and worn. Her eyes looked really red, Louis remembered, and Auntie Daphne had sat him and his sisters down. Her voice had shaken hard when she explained that Louis's mom and dad gotten in an _accident_ —Louis knew that word and it was a bad one—and that they'd been killed. Auntie Daphne had started crying and hugging Louis and his sisters. Lottie and Georgia had started crying because Auntie Daphne was crying, and Louis sat there, wide-eyed and confused as he stared at the crying girls.

Girls cried an awful lot, he reasoned, as he watched all of them sobbing away. And they looked pretty ugly while they did it.

His nose had felt stuffed and his throat had felt scratchy, and he wasn't sure when he realized he was crying too, but crying didn't do much of anything. He cried at the funeral when the caskets holding his cold, dead parents with their strange, pale, still bodies were lowered into the ground. He cried when Auntie Daphne and Uncle Ned first brought him to the home for boys and his sister to the home for girls, looking apologetic and sorry and telling them they were so, _so_ sorry, but they just didn't have the means or the money to take care of them. He cried the first week at the home when everything was new and unfamiliar, and he cried when he woke up one morning and ran across the street to visit his sisters, but Lottie and Georgia were gone.

And then somewhere along the line, Louis had stopped crying and he'd gotten angry instead.

He was angry at his mum and dad for driving when it was raining so hard outside and killing themselves in the process. He was angry at Auntie Daphne and Uncle Ned for leaving him in the home. He was angry at Lottie and Georgia for not saying goodbye before they left. He was angry at Mr. Higgins for hiding things from him. He was angry at Liam for wetting the bed every night. He was angry at Niall for never shutting up—the blonde kid was so _loud_ —and his voice was so weird and unfamiliar and annoying. He was angry at the kids at school for calling him a crybaby. He was angry at himself for being a crybaby and too little for adults to listen to him and explain what was going on.

He'd spent every moment so mad, practically seething with anger, and when he looked around, he saw red.

And that was when he decided he was going to figure out what happened.

Louis is a smart boy. He knew that Mr. Higgins had folders on his sisters in his office, and he'd been in Mr. Higgin's office enough times to know that the man hid the keys to the drawers in a pile of ties he kept in an old shoebox.

He'd given Niall an entire package of chocolate biscuits—one that he'd filched from the kitchen—to bribe him to start screaming in that loud, annoying way, knowing that it would get Mr. Higgins to leave his office to go find out what was wrong and calm Niall down. And when Mr. Higgins, looking crossed and worried, left to go take care of Niall, Louis had slipped into Mr. Higgins office with its guilded wooden chairs and hard table to open the drawers. He flipped through the folders with stealthy fingers, and pulled, “Tomlinson, Charlotte; Tomlinson, Georgia; Tomlinson, Louis.” And then, his curiousity getting the better of him, he'd grabbed, “Payne, Liam; Horan, Niall” for good measure.

Heart racing in his chest with a thrill he couldn't quite explain, he stashed the files under his mattress, and in the middle of the night with a flashlight he'd stolen from school, he pored over them. Lottie and Georgia—he discovered—were with a Mr. and Mrs. Bennett where they'd moved to Bristol. He read briefly over his own file, eyes flitting at the outdated picture attached to his form. The recorded cause of death for parents: automobile accident; siblings listed as Charlotte Tomlinson and Georgia Tomlinson. His file was relatively uninteresting other than that, so he'd tucked them back into his mind and reached trembling fingers for Liam's file.

Once he started reading, he wished he hadn't. Louis wasn't old enough to understand a lot of the words in the newspaper, but he flipped through some pictures and saw the words “house fire” and “entire family killed save Payne son.” His mind working ahead of him, cogs and whirs spinning rapidly, he wondered if that was why Liam was terrified of fire—why the younger boy woke up in a sweat every night and bedsheets stained.

He'd paused, wondering if he should read Niall's file, but his curiosity got the better of him. Niall's file didn't make any sense. Louis saw the word “abuse” a bunch of times, riddled between information like Niall's birth date and his photo ID, but when he finished browsing the file, he didn't know much more than when he had started. 

The next day, Louis crept into Mr. Higgin's office and neatly filed the folders back into place. If Mr. Higgins noticed anything missing, he never said anything.

That was the first time Louis broke into Mr. Higgin's office, but it wouldn't be the last.

___________________________________________________

When Zayn first came, Louis tried to be nice to him. Louis wanted to be his friend, but the darker boy wouldn't talk. He just looked around quietly as though he were deaf. Louis decided he was strange.

He also let his curiosity take over again, and he wanted to learn Zayn's story.

Louis broke into Mr. Higgin's office and found out that Zayn's family had been _murdered._ (He knew what that word meant).

When he asked Zayn if it had been a cool murder, like one of those in the action movies he'd seen his parents watching when they were still alive, Zayn had burst into tears and had crumpled against Niall. Zayn's shoulders had shaken with sobs as the blonde Irish boy tried to hug him and calm him down, and Louis had wondered if he'd said something wrong. From the angry glare that Niall gave him, Louis thought he might have.

He didn't understand why though. He had no secrets and everything was out in the open and everything was just _easier_ that way—why didn't Zayn get it? He'd asked Zayn and Niall that, and Niall had told him to go away, so Louis had listened. He'd walked away like a sad puppy, tail tucked behind its hindlegs, and had decided he needed new friends.

___________________________________________________

That was why when Harry first came—the small, timid boy with big curls and a small smile and eyes the color of grass—Louis had decided Harry would be his new friend. Louis liked Harry. A lot.

And now, six months after Harry's arrival, Louis still likes Harry. A lot.

He likes the way Harry smiles when Louis tells him a joke, even if it isn't that funny. He likes the way Harry doesn't ask him where the biscuits are from when Louis offers him some from under his pillow. He likes the way Harry lets him talk on and on, all his words rambling together, and he likes the way Harry actually _listens_ and responds. He likes Harry's unruly brown curls that remind him of a bird's nest, he likes the way Harry's eyes light up around him. He especially likes the way Harry clambers into his bed in the middle of the night, complaining that Niall cries in his sleep and that his other roommate, Josh, snores like a choo-choo train. He likes the way that Harry's body presses against his, the quiet way they spoon in the middle of the night under Louis's covers. He doesn't even mind the way Harry's mane of hair tickles his nose, and how there's not really enough room in the bed for both of them. He misses Harry in the morning when the younger boy scrambles out of bed and back to his room before he can get caught. He likes the secrets they share, the way words pass easily between them. Louis just likes Harry.

For a long time, Louis has been confused on what a family is. He knows that it's supposed to be people he is “biologically related” to, but he doesn't really understand what that means. He knows that his mum and his dad and Lottie and Georgia were his family before, but now that they're all gone, does that mean he doesn't have a family? The thought leaves him rattled and empty, and he doesn't like it. He asks Mrs. Teasdale, his teacher at school, about family because she's awfully smart and she knows _everything._

Lord, Louis adores Mrs. Teasdale, with her golden-spun hair and her gentle voice and her happy eyes and her laugh. She's perfect.

Mrs. Teasdale processes his question, looking up hesitantly at him. “You want to know what a family is, Louis?” she asks gently, and Louis nods dumbly. That's what he asked, isn't it?

She closes her eyes and puts a hand on his shoulder and she tells him, “Family—they're the people you love the most. The people you love spending time with you and the people that are there for you. For me, my family is my husband and my baby girl, Lux, and my best childhood friend Sami.”

And what she says makes sense.

It's like a beam of light emerging from the Heavens, shining down a straight, bright path and pointing. Screaming, “Look, Louis! There's your family!” and Louis looks and he _gets_ it.

Louis gets who his family is now. Harry.

The other boys sure—Liam, Zayn, and Niall are his good friends and he likes spending time with them and maybe they'll be part of his family some day, but it's Harry mostly, for sure. Harry's his family. Harry's like the little brother Louis has never had and Harry is there for him and he loves spending time with him. Harry's someone he can love, and Louis intends to keep it that way.

___________________________________________________

There's a problem, though.

Louis can see that Harry's _his,_ as clear as day, but Harry can't. Harry doesn't think of Louis as his the way that Louis just _gets_ it. Harry tells Louis that his mum's still alive, and that sooner or later, he's going to break out of the home and go back to Cheshire.

“Will you help me?” Harry asks, eyes shining with anxiety and unrestrained excitement.

Louis runs his tongue through a gap in his teeth, and nods unethusiastically, heart sinking. He tries to smile. “Sure.”

And that's the last time Louis breaks into Mr. Higgin's office.

His fingers fumble with the files in the middle of the night, until they scramble and grab a file with its neat, pressed label. Styles, Harry.

Underneath the covers of his bed, Harry burrowed at his side, Louis flips the file open to get Harry's address.

They find it unlisted—they only find two articles. One of them mentions something about “suicide” and neither of them know what it means. Louis manages to pick out the words “sleeping pills” and “depression” and “overdose” and the name “Anne Cox.” Louis's heard of suicide—but he can't remember what it means.

Harry stares blankly at him, green eyes hopeful as he asks, “Where is she? Where can I find my mum?” 

Louis can only give him a quiet look that says, _I don't know._

When Harry's answer, “S'okay” wavers in silence between them, Louis gives him a tight hug. He promises he'll find out, and battles the unease he feels at the thought of Harry leaving him.

___________________________________________________

“What's suicide mean?” Louis asks the next morning. Harry's scurried out of the room, nestled in his own bed between Niall and Josh and pretending he'd never left.

Liam looks up at him, forehead creased and chocolate curls disheveled. 

“What?” Liam asks, as he pulls the stained bedsheets off his bed. He does this nonchalantly—Louis has seen Liam wet the bed every night for over a year now—it doesn't phase him anymore.

“Suicide.” Louis cocks his head. He thinks he's saying it right. In school he learned that c next to an i makes an _s_ sound, and he tries it again. “Suicide.”

Liam's eyes widen in shock, and Louis is intrigued. “Is it something bad?” he prods Liam, and the other boy swallows.

Responsible Liam and his way of losing himself in textbooks and storybooks. Liam is the kid who hides himself in the library at school and is at the top of every class and is intelligent in ways that are effortless. It also causes him to be disliked and bullied, so even though part of the reason Liam likes libraries is for knowledge, the other part is for a safety.

It only makes sense that Liam knows the answer to Louis's question.

“Um...” Liam fumbles with the words in his mouth, “where'd you read that?”

“Newspaper article,” Louis responds defensively, and he's grateful when Liam doesn't push further.

“It's... when someone... kills themself,” Liam replies, and Louis feels his stomach drop.

_You're lying,_ he wants to say, but he knows that Liam has no reason to lie. He knows that Liam is as honest as they come, and good-hearted and responsible, and there's no reason for him to make this up.

But he wants Liam to be lying, so he doesn't have to tell Harry the truth and watch those bright green eyes crinkle up with sadness when he's worked so hard to get Harry to smile.

___________________________________________________

He tells Harry that night, the words awkward and jumbled in his mouth.

Harry _screams,_ waking Zayn and Liam up. Zayn looks disconcerted, eyes jerking around to corners as though there are monsters in the dark that are coming for him, and Liam looks sad and tired and too _old._

Louis presses his hands over Harry's mouth to silence him, his heart careening in his chest as he tells the younger boy, “Be quiet! Mr. Higgins is going to come and we'll all be in trouble.”

Harry nods, but he's blinking back tears, and when Louis takes his hands off of his mouth, Harry's _crying._

And God, it's awful. Louis has never seen Harry cry before, but Harry doesn't look pretty when he cries at all, Louis decides. Harry's face is all red and blotchy, and his chest heaves, and his sobs are hiccupy and his hair is wet with tears.

“You're _lying,_ ” Harry spits at him, “my mum's not dead. I'm going to find her, and when I do, I'm _leaving._ You're a rotten friend. I don't want to stay here anymore.” Harry's body is shaking and his words are more like gasps, and he stands up abruptly and walks back to his room, leaving Louis alone in his bed with only the silent Zayn and the rational Liam.

Liam asks him quietly if he's alright, and Louis can't do anything but nod. Zayn gives him a sympathetic look, but soon the other boys are asleep, leaving Louis there with his heavy heart and drowning in his guilt.

Louis thinks he might have messed everything up.

___________________________________________________

When Mr. Higgins takes the boys out to the nearby Salvation Army to buy new outfits for school, Louis walks with his hands buried in his pockets, behind Niall and Zayn. Niall is shrieking, running frantically around the store, dragging silent Zayn in tow. (Louis kind of wants to punch Niall. Zayn doesn't seem to mind Niall—he just smiles at the Irish boy in his quiet, secretive way). Liam is eyeing a collared shirt, and Louis is just by himself, kicking absently at the floor.

He knows Mr. Higgins has told him to go find three outfits, but he's tired of wearing old, used clothes that make the kids at school turn their noses up at him as though they've smelled something funny. He's tired of the kids at school knowing that he only has three shirts and two pairs of trousers to call his own, and he's tired of getting hand-me-downs from the older boys. He's tired of the judgmental glares and the sympathetic looks from the grown-ups. He just wants something of his own. 

“Hey,” comes a gentle voice, and Louis jerks his head up eagerly, and it's Harry. Harry looks tired, eyes rimmed with red and voice cracking, but it's _Harry_ and he's talking to him.

“I don't know what clothes to choose,” Harry admits sheepishly, and Louis takes that as a _we're okay_ and grabs Harry by the hand. He chooses Harry a striped, white and navy sweatshirt and a not-so-beat-up pair of khaki trousers, and grins triumphantly when the curly-haired boy pulls them on.

“You look like me,” Louis chortles delightedly. He beams as he points at his own striped t-shirt.

Harry looks uncertain and bites his lip. “You sure these are okay, Lou?”

“Of course!” Louis chirps confidently, because Harry's his friend again and everything is _great._ “That way people at school and everywhere will know you're with me. We're Louis and Harry—we're the greatest team since Batman and Robin and Fred and Barney and Shaggy and Scooby and Mario and Luigi-”

“-Peanut butter and jelly?” Harry suggests hesitantly, and Louis hugs him, his smile nearly splitting his face.

“Yes!” Because Harry _gets_ it, he _gets_ it. He gets that Louis's is his, and that they'll be alright as long as they're in this _together._ “You and I can be Louis and Harry or Harry and Louis—the next big thing, that alright?”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, dimples perking up on his cheeks, and Louis thinks he might have— _maybe_ —just fixed things.

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be from a different boy's perspective :) Please let me know what you think so far!


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